Arran’s Obsession (Body Count, #1)

Throughout the week, we kept to the warehouse, holed up and with the stories about Natasha settling. News articles screamed about there being a serial killer on the loose, but the police downplayed it, pointing out the differences between the two women and how the lack of any connection made it highly unlikely.

We didn’t share our theory, nor did we need to.

Natasha had put up a series of increasingly angry posts on her social media in the days leading up to her death, stating how she had found religion and was going to dedicate her life to helping others turn their back on sin. This made her a target, according to the cops, and someone coming at her for that made a much more likely outcome than any random link to a street worker.

An arrest was made. An online troll had posted comments about her being hypocritical and a fake which made the keyboard warriors connect him to how she’d been dumped outside a strip club. He was released soon after, but the blame game took the public’s attention from Deadwater and off my front door.

The police action on Cherry’s case dwindled, implying she wasn’t as valuable as Natasha, but they were wrong on all counts.

Meanwhile, Gen’s brother had gone on the drive about with his girlfriend and found no sign of Don. He reported that she was distraught. That even another gang member they spoke to was worried. All of which gave us nothing to go on.

I put all my energy into winning Gen over by being the world’s best fucking boyfriend. I brought her coffee when she woke, cooked meals, and played us movie marathons on a TV I’d rarely watched in the past. I also took the time to give Gen further pieces of myself, letting her in as much as I could. I explained how Chief Constable Kenney had previously worked for my father, and how I had evidence hidden away of how Kenney had once provided a service disposing of bodies. She listened about my deal with the mayor, too, and how I paid bribes to a number of people to keep them sweet so my business could operate unhindered. All the dark corners of my world exposed.

We fucked. A lot. Even angry at me, Gen couldn’t stop herself from wanting me.

She got fired from her food courier job, and though I had no regrets about her never going back to that shit, it bothered me how blue she had become.

On the fourth day of lockdown, I accepted a delivery at the warehouse and took it to her. A pet carrier which I opened in the apartment’s living room, releasing a fluffy brown cat. It padded forward, posing for a beat, whiskers out.

“Cherry’s,” I told her. “Dixie informed me you discovered she’d had a pet. The neighbour had taken it to a centre, but I had people track it down. Believe it or not, getting approval to take home that animal took longer than buying the Crescent.”

With an expression of sadness mixing into a softer emotion, Gen settled on her knees and held out a hand, letting the cat go to her, its huge yellow eyes curious.

“Her name’s Rosie,” I offered.

Gen picked Rosie up. She hugged her, and the cat instantly sheathed its claws and kneaded her leg.

“Her collar is the exact shade of Cherry’s hair. At last, I can do something in my friend’s name,” she murmured into the thick fur which would be all over my fucking place. “I’ll look after her baby. Thank you for finding her.”

My gaze burned into hers. “Is this enough? I want our lives to be like this always. Next week sees the end of our month, and I can’t handle the thought that you might leave.”

She held Rosie closer. “No, it isn’t enough.”

“What will be?”

“I hurt, Arran. I didn’t ask for this, just the same as you didn’t, but now I have you, I can’t go back to not loving you. If you can’t love me back, I’ll always be in pain.”

I remained tight-jawed. “I’m going to propose to you on the very last day. It’s the final stage, usually a public engagement announcement or a blood bond, but we can register to marry instead.”

That ache inside her was right there in her eyes. She shook her head, sorrow plain. “You have to say the word ‘love’ in marriage vows. You’d be a liar. Sorry, Arran. But lying in that oath is a dealbreaker for me.”

Then she locked herself away with Rosie and the box of cat things I’d had brought up, and left me to plan for the clubs’ reopening this evening. I had no choice but to keep going. With the warehouse not taking in money, my staff were missing out on tips. I preferred keeping them close, too.

Plus nothing else had happened. No further act of violence or threat, no graffiti and no more bodies. Shade, who had taken Kenney’s list of new jail releases and already handled one of the men, took the night off and stayed at the club, adding to the boosted security.

We watched the crowds and skirted the rooms.

The night passed with barely even a skirmish on Divide’s packed dance floor.

On Saturday, I met with the team, and we made the decision to stay open. That night and Sunday went by without a hitch. Still nothing on Don, still no retaliation.

On Monday evening, after we closed from the student night, I sought out Shade. “Free to help me handle some business?”

There was something I needed to do, and that hadn’t gone away, only been suspended. Gen’s father was still missing without a trace, but her mother’s killer was top of my list to manage. An almost desperate need to prove myself to her reigned over me, and having Jordan Peters dead and her mother avenged would go a long way towards that.

Shade slid a knife from his jacket and tested the blade. “I’m down.”

“I don’t want to leave Gen unprotected,” I said, though my mind was already out the door and driving south. We’d need to be quick—I was still under a four-hour restriction from being away from Gen’s side—but it was possible.

“We’ll leave a full crew here until we return. Are ye tracking her?” Shade asked.

“Tracking her?”

He gave me an eyeroll like I was an amateur then gestured for me to follow. Upstairs, in his apartment, he opened a kitchen drawer and brought out a device.

“Point that end at her skin, the upper arm or padded part of the arse is best, then squeeze the trigger. If she’s asleep, she might not even feel it.”

I turned the tool over in my hands. “How does it work?”

On his phone, Shade demonstrated a map with an icon over it. “If she moves, the map will show you where. I’ll set it up for you.”

“Who are you monitoring?” I gazed at the icon. It was in a nice part of town with big houses behind a gated entrance. I squinted, trying to see the street name. “It isn’t one of our marked men, not in that part of the city.”

He dropped his hand, and the screen blackened. “One I don’t look at often.”

“Whatever you tell yourself, brother.”

Shade lowered his gaze. “Ask again and I’ll tell Gen what you’ve done.”

Fine. In a minute, he had the software ready for me. Then I was leaving his apartment for mine.

A little squeak of greeting came from Rosie, and I trod out of my shoes and stooped to stroke her fuzzy head, then entered the bedroom, closing the door to keep the cat out.

Lying on her front, Gen slept. She’d been keeping busy finding ways to help out in the club. An early start meant she’d crashed before the sun was up.

I approached on soft feet.

We were heading into autumn, but the evening was still warm enough for her to be only covered by a sheet, her outline fucking mouthwatering. I set down the gun and peeled the cover back, already hard for her.

In the dark, her breathing stayed easy, no sign of awareness that I was present. I cut away her sleep shorts. Carefully shifted her knee to expose her to me. The last time I’d done this, it had wrecked me. I’d used her as a plaything. I also knew she hadn’t minded.

Her pussy lips were soft under my tongue. I licked and teased until she was slick with gleaming arousal, that taste of her fucking incredible.

With one hand, I freed my dick and stroked myself. I’d do anything for her. Anything.

Also anything to her.

Kneeling over her, I ran the head of my dick over her slick centre, then pushed inside, just a fraction at a time, perfectly slowly until I was all the way in. She constricted around me, and sweat broke out on my brow.

My breathing came hard. My body fucking shook.

I picked up the gun. Set it against her perfect, round ass cheek, then with zero hesitation pulled the trigger. It jerked against her, and I tossed it behind me, fucking into her with a hard stroke, a distraction from any pain.

She groaned, her hand coming out to find me.

“Going to fuck you then I’ll be gone for a few hours,” I told her.

“Gone?”

She tried to rise, but I held her down, delivering my promise with repeated hard thrusts until we both groaned in need and bliss. When she came, I stopped for a second to feel her then emptied my balls into her, always needing her pleasure.

I pulled out and licked a tiny spot of blood from her ass cheek, then reinstated my clothes, concealing the gun in my back pocket.

Sleepily, Gen flexed her limbs and peered at me. “I’m worried. Where are you going?”

“To kill Jordan Peters.”

With a shocked breath, she jumped up.

“I won’t lie to you,” I said into a kiss, my fingers spreading over the choker that I wouldn’t let her remove. “He’s been a dead man walking since you told me his name. I’ll call you when it’s done, then I’ll be back before our time is up.”

“You do all this but you won’t tell me you love me.” Gen stepped back, then said louder, “Four hours or less.”

“Don’t leave the warehouse,” I ordered.

At least if she tried, I’d know.